Jason is uncharacteristically nervous, which throws me.
‘Zoe? You are there, aren’t you?’
‘Yes,’ I reply, then can’t think of anything else to say.
‘Zoe, I’ve thought about making this phone call every day for the last eight months. In fact, I’ve phoned you a few times but – well, I’ve always been cut off.’
I’m still stumped for something to say.
‘But now that I’ve managed to get hold of you,’ he continues, ‘I don’t know where to begin.’
Hearing Jason again is like the first sip of champagne after months of abstinence. It’s as delectable and irresistible as it’s risky. I find myself craving him, longing to be with him in person. Despite this, I have to start with the obvious question. There’s no alternative.
‘How about telling me why you stood me up on our wedding day?’ I ask.
‘Of course,’ he says awkwardly. ‘Well, that’s a good question. A question I’ve asked myself every second of every day since. All I can say is, it was a moment of madness.’
There’s another silence.
‘Are you saying you regret it?’ I ask.
‘Yes,’ he says, with more than a hint of desperation. ‘Yes, I regret it. It was insane.’
‘Insane?’
‘Utterly crazy,’ he continues. ‘I don’t know what came over me or how to explain it.’
‘Well, try.’
‘Okay, okay. The truth is, I was scared. I can’t put my finger on why – but I was. I suppose it was just the idea of being with one person for the rest of my life. It kept nagging at me.’
‘It’s called marriage, Jason,’ I tell him flatly.
‘I know, I know! And marriage is something I wanted. That I do want. But the day before the wedding, well, I was terrified. Really bloody terrified. Which is stupid because you and I had been together for so long that, logic tells me, we would have been fine for much, much longer. For ever, in fact. But that didn’t stop me feeling . . . claustrophobic. Panicky. Fraught—’
‘Oh, stop!’
‘Sorry.’
I immediately wish I hadn’t jumped in. I want to get to the bottom of all this, don’t I? ‘No,’ I say. ‘Carry on.’
He takes a breath. ‘Right,’ he continues. ‘Well, the thing is, Zoe, I’d been fine about the whole getting-married thing. I mean, I loved you and was just happy to be with you without all the bells and whistles of a bloody big ceremony. But I knew you wanted to do it and that was fine. In fact, it was more than fine. But my feelings towards the whole thing seemed to change the closer we got to the day. And by the morning, when Neil and I were getting ready, it was like I was in shock. I couldn’t bring myself to put my suit on. I just stood there, unable to move, unable to do anything except panic and listen to Neil getting more and more hysterical as time went on.’
I still don’t say anything.
‘Are you still there?’ he asks.
‘Yes.’
‘Well, it got to ten past two and I still didn’t have my suit on and all I could do was lie on my bed and try not to think about it. Try not to think about you going through what you must have been going through. I just wanted to close my eyes and block everything out.’
He pauses again.
‘This isn’t making me feel any better,’ I lie.
‘Isn’t it?’ he asks anxiously. ‘No. I don’t suppose it is. I mean, why would it? I ruined your big day. How could I possibly make that better?’
He sounds like a little boy. Hurt and bewildered because he’s done something catastrophic that he can’t reverse. Despite everything, I find myself wanting to reach out and hug him. To feel his arms round me. But there are 3,500 miles of ocean between us.
‘Zoe,’ he mumbles, ‘I’d do anything to get you back.’
I hesitate. Then, ‘How can you say that after what happened? After what you did?’
‘Because I know now – more than ever – that I love you,’ he says. ‘You’re the only woman I’ll ever love. I know I’ll never be able to turn back the clock, but I wish I could. My life’s over without you, Zoe.’
‘Don’t be daft.’
‘I mean it,’ he insists. ‘What I want more than anything in this world is the chance to start again with you. For you and me to get back what we had. I know I don’t deserve you, but I thought you ought to know how I feel. I couldn’t have lived with myself if I hadn’t told you.’
I slump back on the bed, close my eyes and think. In fact, I think so much my head starts to hurt.
But no matter how hard I try, I can’t help but come to one conclusion. A conclusion I know my friends, my family, my former colleagues and all the guests who turned up on my wedding day would consider so certifiably insane that nothing short of a full-frontal lobotomy would help me now.
But everyone deserves a second chance, don’t they?
Chapter 76
I only have to touch Ryan’s shoulder and he stirs.
‘Hey,’ he murmurs, with a sleepy smile. ‘I was hoping you’d change your mind. I can’t seem to make it through the night without you any more.’
I’m sitting on the edge of his bed, fully dressed. It takes him a second to notice this, but when he does he sits up and rubs his eyes. ‘What is it? Is something the matter?’
‘No,’ I whisper. ‘It’s just—’
‘Why are you dressed?’ he asks, bewildered.
‘Ryan, there are some issues I need to sort out back home,’ I tell him. ‘A couple of things have happened and I need to . . . well, I need to deal with them.’
‘Okay,’ he says slowly, putting his hand on my arm. ‘Is there anything I can help with?’
‘No,’ I reply. ‘I just need to go home. Quickly.’
Realization sweeps across his face. ‘You’re not leaving now?’
I gulp. ‘There’s a flight that leaves in a few hours,’ I tell him. ‘I couldn’t believe they had a spare seat so close to Christmas but they did – so I ought to take it. There won’t be another chance to get home until after Boxing Day, I’m sure.’
He stares at me, incredulous, and I feel the need to give him some sort of explanation.
‘My mum’s not very well,’ I blurt out, feeling guilty for using my mother’s hypochondria as an excuse.
‘Is it serious?’
‘I – I don’t think so,’ I mutter, ‘but I probably ought to get home to make sure and . . .’ I take an envelope from my back pocket. ‘This should explain some things, Ryan,’ I tell him. I hand it over and he takes it, his eyes not leaving mine. ‘Something happened before I came here that I didn’t want to discuss with anyone. So I haven’t. Not with anyone. It was all too – too painful. But I hope you’ll understand when you read it.’
He looks down at the letter. ‘You are coming back, aren’t you, Zoe?’ he asks.
I bite my lip. ‘I – I’ve left a message with the nanny agency asking them to send a replacement as soon as possible. So, whatever happens, you won’t be without childcare.’
‘Zoe,’ he frowns, ‘it’s not about the childcare, for God’s sake.’
Tears well in my eyes.
‘I – I feel awful not being able to say goodbye to Ruby and Samuel,’ I continue, pretending not to have heard him. ‘Will you please give them a kiss for me and tell them I’ll phone them as soon as I can? I’ve written them a letter too and their Christmas presents are in the cupboard next to my bed. I haven’t had time to wrap them, I’m afraid, but—’
My rambling runs out of steam and I want to get out of here before the tears in my eyes spill out uncontrollably.
I’m about to leave, when Ryan kneels up on his bed and grabs my arm. Then he cups my head in his hands and kisses me as tenderly, as passionately, as beautifully as ever.
I know it’s the last time we’ll kiss like this and the thought overwhelms me. Despite what Felicity said. Despite what I saw Barbara doing to him. Despite how much I love Jason.
The next thing I know,
tears are pouring down my cheeks and I can’t stop kissing him, no matter how swollen my mouth and wet my skin.
Eventually I manage to pull away.
‘I’m sorry.’ I back towards the door and tear my eyes away from his bewilderment. ‘I’m really sorry.’
The cab is waiting outside when I get downstairs, its engine purring. As I shut the door behind me, I lift my bag and am taken aback by how heavy it is. I feel as if I’m dragging the dead body of a large yak.
When I reach the front garden, I gaze up at Ruby’s window and my stomach lurches. I just hope to God the note I’ve left for her and Samuel makes them realize how desperately I’ll miss them: those two gorgeous children who – no matter where I end up in life – I will never, ever forget.
I think about hugging them in the mornings, their soft baby skin as warm and sweet as freshly baked biscuits, their eyes full of energy and excitement. I’m praying they’re not too upset when they wake up and find I’m not there. I really couldn’t bear to upset them. Yet, somehow, I know that’s exactly what they’ll be. Those two small children, who’ve already lost a mother and are now losing . . .
I feel a hard lump rise to my throat and I fight back more tears. I grip my suitcase and tell myself not to be so stupid. I’m their nanny, for God’s sake, not their mum.
I hesitate. Oh, Zoe, are you doing the right thing?
I haven’t a bloody clue.
The taxi driver gets out and attempts to help me put my bag in the boot. Even with both of us working on it, he complains it nearly gives him a hernia. ‘The airport, right?’ he checks, as I slump in the back.
‘Please.’
‘You going home for Christmas?’ he asks, as we turn out of the road.
‘I’m going home for good.’
‘Awww,’ he groans. ‘You mean old Boston didn’t get under your skin enough to keep you here?’
‘You know what it’s like,’ I reply. ‘Home sweet home, as they say.’
‘Yeah, yeah. So where you from?’
‘Liverpool,’ I tell him. ‘In England.’
‘Liver-pooohl,’ he replies, in what I can’t help thinking is a closer approximation of a remote African dialect than my own accent. I suppress a smile.
‘Wasn’t that where the Beatles were from?’
‘The very same.’
‘My wife used to have a crush on Ringo Starr.’
‘Really?’ I reply.
As he drones on, I can’t bring myself to listen. All I can think about is the taste of Ryan’s mouth and the feel of his hands on my skin.
The flight is uneventful. The most exciting it gets is a couple of hours after take-off, when I’ve finished my inflight breakfast and am entertaining myself by stacking the plastic cup, cartons, cutlery and sachets. By the time I’ve finished, every item is satisfyingly secure, neat and tidy.
As I hand it to the stewardess, an empty yoghurt carton, a plastic fork and an unopened orange juice clatter on to my tray. ‘Oh, Jeez! I am so, so sorry!’ blusters my neighbour, as she leans over me to scoop up the stray items. ‘I really, really am. Oh, Jeez!’
She’s in her mid-twenties, with olive skin and a short, funky haircut.
‘Oh, man!’ she mutters, as she attempts to lean into the gap between our fold-down trays to reach her spoon and nearly dislocates her shoulder.
‘Hey, I’ll get it,’ I tell her, folding up my tray. As I bend to pick up the spoon I catch a whiff of a heady combination of at least seven duty-free perfumes.
With the spoon safely ensconced in the stewardess’s trolley, my neighbour leans back in her seat and blows a stray hair out of her face. ‘Thank you.’ She smiles, rolling her eyes.
‘Not a problem.’ I chuckle.
‘This is my first time out of the US,’ she confides.
‘Really?’ I say, trying my best to look surprised.
‘I’m taking a year out to travel. Manchester’s my first stop – my dad has family there. Got a job lined up. You know the score.’ She shrugs.
‘Well, good for you,’ I say, meaning it. ‘I hope you love it, I really do.’
‘Thanks. Hey, I don’t suppose you know whether or not I need one of these, do you?’ she asks, brandishing an immigration form. ‘I took one earlier but haven’t got a clue if I’m supposed to fill it out.’
Chapter 77
When I walk through Arrivals at Manchester airport, I find myself scanning my surroundings for Jason. It’s been months since I last saw him, but I know he won’t have changed. My heart is galloping as I look around, desperate to locate his tall familiar frame, his dark hair and the smile that could win anyone over.
Only it’s difficult to see much through the sea of people – and as my eyes dart from person to person, I start to panic. Why the hell isn’t he here? He knew which terminal I was flying into, didn’t he? He hasn’t left me in the lurch again, surely! Oh, God, I’m not sure I could take it . . .
I rifle through my hand luggage for my phone but suddenly spot a hand waving through the crowd. A voice is calling my name. Someone is hurtling towards me.
Only it’s not Jason.
‘Zo-eeee! We’re here!’ Mum elbows her way through the crowds using the sort of guerrilla tactics she usually reserves for the January sales. ‘Zo-eeee! Over here!’ She flings her arms open and propels herself into me with the force of a prop forward. ‘My little girl! Oh, my little girl! Oh, I’ve missed you!’
Dad is hovering behind, his arms filled with her belongings, including what looks like a new bag, a dripping umbrella, her Whistles coat and his car keys. She’s put on a little weight since I last saw her, but all in all looks as polished as ever. ‘Hello, love,’ he says cheerily. He attempts to peck my cheek, but Mum gets there first again.
‘Ohhh!’ she hollers, squeezing me so hard that I’m concerned for my vital organs. ‘Oh, I’ve missed you!’
‘Sorry, but can you move along, please?’ interrupts a member of the airport staff, who doesn’t look sorry at all. ‘You’re blocking the access route here.’
Mum disengages herself from me – momentarily at least – then links my arm and shuffles me towards the car-park pay point. ‘We’ve got so much to organize, but you don’t need to worry about anything. I’ve made up your bed already so—’ She stops for a second. ‘Gordon! What are you doing? Carry Zoe’s bag, for goodness’ sake!’
‘Oh, no, it’s fine, honestly,’ I insist. The suitcase alone is enough to give Dad the backache of an overworked pack-horse.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Zoe,’ she says, thrusting it on to Dad, whose knees almost give way. ‘After that long flight you’re bound to be jet-logged.’
‘Lagged,’ corrects Dad, poking his head over Mum’s coat.
‘What?’
‘I was just saying you meant jet-lagged.’
‘Now,’ Mum grins, ignoring him, ‘things we need to organize. Well, we’ll discuss it in more detail when we get home. You’ll have a rest first. But you mustn’t worry because I’ve started to make a list.’
I’m in the back of Dad’s Vauxhall Vectra and halfway down the M62 before I can get a word in between Mum’s wittering. It’s so incessant you’d think she was being sponsored. ‘How did you know to come and pick me up?’ I ask.
‘Jason, of course,’ Mum says brightly. ‘He wanted to come himself but he had a meeting to go to. It was a very important one otherwise he would have been here. And, anyway, we didn’t have much on.’
As we trundle along the slow lane of the motorway, I wipe my sleeve across the condensation on the window and peer out. It’s hard to see anything because of the drizzle, but everything looks so cold and grey it’s like watching a fifty-year-old portable telly.
‘How are you feeling, Mum?’ I ask.
‘Hmm . . . Not bad, not bad at all now.’ She beams.
‘Good. So what was wrong with you that you couldn’t tell me over the phone?’
She pauses for a second. ‘Don’t you worry about that for now. We�
�ll have a chat later. Let’s just concentrate on one thing at a time, shall we?’
‘Fine.’
‘Now,’ says Mum, ‘I don’t know if I did the right thing, but I’ve left a message for Anita at the nursery today to ask if your old job’s still going. Of course, you might want to go for something a bit better now. All that experience you got in America must be worth something.’
Dad switches Radio 2 on as Terry Wogan introduces a Coldplay song. Mum switches it off again.
‘Jason’s coming round as soon as he can get away from work,’ she continues, turning round to grin at me. ‘D’you know? I’m so pleased you two have had a reconciliation. I knew you were made for each other.’
Something isn’t right about this. Something definitely isn’t right.
‘Is something the matter, love?’ asks Mum.
‘I don’t know,’ I mutter. ‘I suppose I’m just surprised at your reaction – about Jason, I mean.’
‘Whatever makes you say that?’ she gasps.
‘You thought he was the devil incarnate last week,’ I point out. ‘I was dreading telling you I’d arranged to meet him because . . . well, I thought you’d think I was doing the wrong thing. You know, after what happened with the wedding and everything.’
I catch a glimpse of Dad’s expression in the rear-view mirror. He isn’t saying anything. I can tell immediately that this is exactly what he thinks.
‘Oh, Zoe, we’d have to be pretty churlish to take that standpoint, wouldn’t we?’ Mum laughs, giving Dad a nudge. ‘I mean, perhaps if he hadn’t taken such drastic steps to prove he means it this time, I might be sceptical. But you can’t doubt his motives now.’
‘No,’ I mutter again, still distinctly uneasy.
‘Not now he’s booked the register office and everything.’
For a moment I wonder if I’ve heard her right. Whether she’s really just said what I think she has. But as I play it back in my mind – and become convinced that she has – I realize that a full fifteen seconds have passed without me taking a single breath.
The Nearly-Weds Page 25
